


My Scarlet Name

by sarkymoocow (parenthetical)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F, PWP, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-14
Updated: 2004-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parenthetical/pseuds/sarkymoocow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time, Bellatrix doesn't even know the girl's name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Scarlet Name

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song by Xandria.

The first time, Bellatrix doesn't even know the girl's name.

Bellatrix is striding through the dark lower levels of the Dark Lord’s headquarters when the young woman rounds a corner and stops just short of running into her.

She’s perhaps seventeen or so, and almost pretty, Bellatrix observes in the first awkward moment. Not in the way that Bellatrix was at that age, before Azkaban clawed its marks into her face, but in the demure manner of a prim, well brought-up pure-blood girl – black hair confined in a severe bob, delicate cheekbones, a faint flush to her pale face, and dark eyes now lit up with something like awe as she drinks in Bellatrix’s appearance. Bellatrix is mildly surprised that this child shows no obvious distaste for the scars and lines which mar her face, nor any of the revulsion and fear that she so often inspires.

“My Lady Bellatrix,” the girl murmurs reverently, and curtsies deeply. The gesture of respect is hauntingly familiar to Bellatrix from all the childhood hours she spent practising it herself, at her parents’ insistence. Foolishness, of course; these days she curtsies to no one, and looks on those who do with scorn. She smiles mockingly at the girl. _A pretty little pure-blooded Hufflepuff, no doubt. Little fool_...

The girl straightens again, raising her eyes to gaze at Bellatrix once more. “I’m honoured to meet you, my lady. I’ve heard of you all my life...” Her face is still filled with awe and respect. And something else, which Bellatrix takes several moments to identify. It’s deeply buried and no doubt subconscious, but Bellatrix is almost certain it’s desire.

Bellatrix feels her smile widen slightly. _Well, well_. She reaches a decision. Thirteen years in Azkaban have left her inclined to indulge her whims. And almost-pretty little Hufflepuffs should not be wandering around in the depths of the Dark Lord’s headquarters by themselves. Really, it’s her duty to teach the girl a lesson or two. Using a young fool with a bad case of hero-worship is not the kind of thing which will trouble her conscience, although admittedly, little does these days.

So she reaches out and touches the girl’s fine-boned face, watching with detached, cynical satisfaction as the girl’s eyes widen and then fall shut, and smiling as her breathing hitches. Bellatrix allows her hand to slide lower, tracing the delicate line of the girl’s jaw and the arch of her neck, until it reaches her shoulder.

Then she shoves the young woman abruptly to her knees, hard enough to bruise them on the stone floor. The girl’s dark eyes fly open, and Bellatrix smiles at her cruelly. “A pretty little Hufflepuff who curtsies so deeply should be perfectly comfortable kneeling, surely?”

For a moment, Bellatrix thinks the girl is about to protest, and really, she is hardly in the mood to listen to the pathetic whimpering of a young fool who deserves whatever she gets. So she doesn’t give her a chance to speak, instead reaching out to tangle her fingers in the girl’s black hair and then tugging cruelly, and is rewarded by a faint gasp of pain.

The little Hufflepuff’s eyes are now filled with so many emotions that Bellatrix is unable to read them all; she can see pain and shock, and something which looks like fear, but also the same flickering of almost-suppressed desire she’d seen before.

For a split-second, Bellatrix considers her options. She could use the Imperius curse, but really, with a Hufflepuff, Imperius hardly seems necessary.

So Bellatrix simply pulls the skirts of her robes up and out of the way with her free hand, watching with amusement as the girl’s eyes widen again in dawning realisation. But before the girl can try to fight her way free, Bellatrix yanks on her hair and drags her mouth to where she wants it to be. It is only much, much later that Bellatrix realises the girl did not actually try to resist at all, and in retrospect she thinks that that should have been her first clue.

The girl’s mouth is hesitant and uncertain as it moves against her, and Bellatrix smiles and yanks sharply on black hair to guide her. She relishes the control, the girl’s helpless obedience, feeling the pleasure slowly building in her as the little Hufflepuff moves her mouth in response to Bellatrix’s silent directions.

Then suddenly Bellatrix’s breath catches as the girl does something with her tongue that Bellatrix most certainly did _not_ direct her to do. Bellatrix pulls the girl’s hair savagely – _obey me!_ – but the girl pays no heed to the unspoken command, her mouth now ruthless and the sensation shockingly unexpected. Bellatrix yanks harder on the girl’s hair and curses, feeling heat suddenly flooding through her. Her precious control is _gone_, and she is shuddering, coming, before she fully understands what is happening.

Bellatrix grabs the girl by the shoulders and shoves her away as the pressure of her mouth becomes unbearable. She doesn’t release her grip immediately, since her legs are suddenly decidedly unsteady, but instead rests her hands there and tries to calm her breathing.

The girl is looking up at her with a demure half-smile on her lips, and the temerity of her composure almost leaves Bellatrix breathless. “I’m actually a Slytherin, my Lady Bellatrix. For future reference.”

Bellatrix stares at her. The girl’s dark eyes are alight with amusement and satisfaction, and she is no longer bothering to mask the desire she had half-hidden before. Her black hair is now a tangled mess and standing up in all directions, and her pale face is damp. As Bellatrix releases her completely, the girl reaches calmly into a pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, dabbing delicately at her face.

“Indeed,” Bellatrix finally replies non-committally, straightening her robes, wondering who has really been using whom. Without another word, she turns and strides off along the corridor again, leaving the girl still kneeling on the stone floor.

_That’s one to keep my eye on_.


End file.
